


Inlay Nocturne

by Justausernameonline



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Character Study, Clothed Sex, F/F, Mild Smut, Post-Timeskip, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:46:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21591709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Justausernameonline/pseuds/Justausernameonline
Summary: She echoes the path her muse roves, for a promise from the earnest also rests on the capricious. The grove enfolds them, the tomatoes glint in afterthought, and the jade delights as they watch the river pull silt from the bank.(A little night rendezvous, girded by Dorothea's persisting worries and wants.)
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault & Edelgard von Hresvelg, Dorothea Arnault/Edelgard von Hresvelg
Comments: 6
Kudos: 32





	Inlay Nocturne

She echoes the path her muse roves, for a promise from the earnest also rests on the capricious. The grove enfolds them, the tomatoes glint in afterthought, and the jade delight as they watch the river pull silt from the bank.

Under a wild moon, the stars and crickets play, snakes browse and doves croon memories as they stand hushed, layers of fabric and longing between their fingertips. For Edelgard, Dorothea murmurs prose turned lyrics turned flight across the silk of her shirt. Until it pools to her elbows and Edelgard lays gasping from a hand pressed against the center of her pants, they sink to the grass and throw volleys of plans, of dreams. Their laughter cools.

It appalls them both, that neither stays quite safe together, will never feel as bright by the storm and ashes of their making. Here, it is an ostinato of yearning, where Edelgard bares herself and Dorothea counts not casualties—although they are an amalgam of loss in itself—but constellations of wretched confines across muscle and spite. Here, falling is not so dire, when Dorothea’s fingers curl as though against ivory keys and her tongue dips, dips right into her, and Edelgard breaks with dazed pleasure and trembling thighs. 

For the moment they are one, darling, beloved. Edelgard stirs to Dorothea staining the corners of her bruised lips, drifting lower to smile against her flushed neck, to the inside of her wrists, and the steel in her gaze transmutes into something else. It speaks to ancient wonder. Songs. Dance. Lightning and fire. Of a few fabrics by which people thrive, Dorothea finds in her a resurgence. 

Because terror prowls, they do not linger. Dorothea washes the come from her fingertips, and Edelgard hums at the wrinkles in her clothes, the marks left about from careful prying, the ache between her legs, the guilt she shares as Dorothea blithely diverts her own. They brush the silt from their clothes. They lift the tomatoes from their vines and pick the jade leaves from their branches. They leave no trace behind. 

It is a piece she wishes to tire themselves of, in a push for an ideal, and cannot. Even then, its practice promises a life from desolation, where days fall to companions and not the other way around. It promises somewhere to belong, whether with a score or in another’s arms.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> heyo all! no i have never had the sex but i tried to do justice . .


End file.
